


Guide to a Selection of Cyrodiilic Plants

by nostalgic_breton_girl



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Alchemy, Cyrodiil (Elder Scrolls), Gen, a headcanon folklore of elder scrolls plants, specifically those which grow in cyrodiil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgic_breton_girl/pseuds/nostalgic_breton_girl
Summary: Alphabetical Guide to a Selection of Cyrodiilic Plants: Identification, Folk-lore, and Alchemical Overview. A work by Julianne Traven for the Guild of Mages, and for the General Public.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Alkanet. Aloe Vera. Apple Tree. Arrowroot.

**Author's Note:**

> ***IMPORTANT NOTE*** Please DO NOT use this as a guide to whether real-life plants are safe to eat. While many are, some of them, including a good deal of the fungi, have in TES positive initial alchemical effects, but in real life are poisonous unless cooked, or in general. If you want to forage in anything but the forests of Cyrodiil, I advise you check a real-life wild food guide.

**Alkanet**

There is scarce a native of the West Weald, who has not, at some time, threaded an alkanet flower through a buttonhole, or adorned one’s hair with it; and the devoted adorer with a sorry purse might gather a bunch for their lover – a present rarely badly received, for it is a dainty thing, slender and breezy, with charming little flowers between a rich sky-blue and a royal purple, and gently scented.

A shy little woodland plant – nervous on the edge of civilisation – but which, in spring and summer, fills the forest paths, that one can scarcely see the nettles and ivy beneath. This is a celebrated particularity of the West Weald: it is spring, they say, when the alkanet springs from the soil, and summer is soon to arrive, when it bursts into flower.

Alchemists value this plant for its effects on Intelligence: such an obscure thing is not, however, of much interest among the populace. A craftsman will not even name this attribute, in discussing the plant: they will instead praise the dye made from its roots, which is to be found in near everything red: clothes and curtains and fabrics, but also – which surprises the visitor to the county – the Skingrad vintages. – Next time you drink a glass of Surilie red, or a fine Tamika, know that it owes its colour to this deceptively humble plant, quite the charm and the life-blood of Skingrad.

* * *

**Aloe Vera**

The scourge or the charm of the Gold Coast? – It is not known how the plant came to be such a common sight there: whether it be native, or whether it came upon ships bound from Hammerfell, where it grows in such abundance that the humblest of citizens recognises it for all its virtues. The people of Anvil are not so trained in Hammerfell folklore, and it is often that they bemoan the thing as invasive, as omnipresent, as that squat ugly little cactus which – the nay-sayers claim – has starved the native plants upon the sand-dunes and the cliffs.

I suspect that the most vehement of views come from those who, having attempted a picnic, and quite by mistake sat on one, now hold a grudge on behalf of their injured behind. For my part – and I am Anvil true-and-through – I find them charming, their coloration a reflexion of the calm sea beneath a summer sky. And there are those who swear upon it as the source of their gleamingly clear skin, though this is still a topic of much debate. Alchemically, it is of some use: though wortcraft and simple potions take little more than an antidote to fatigue from it, a little more effort may allow it to be used in a healing-potion: and I believe in Hammerfell it is directly used in poultices, though this secret, alas! has not trickled far beyond its origins.

Even if one has no use for this plant, I insist that one sees it in a better light than its bitter enemies. There was always a cluster of them, at the city gates; a flurry, upon the cliffs; quite light and carefree, and the essence of the Gold Coast, whether one likes it or not.

* * *

**Apple Tree**

There is nothing quite like the common apple: the heaving boxes of them, shining rows, upon market-stalls; a bounty of them, fallen on the road, abandoned to the opportunist, or to the birds; and the tree bowed under its crop... Those who have lived all their life in the cities, quite often do not believe that the wild apple exists: that a walk in the countryside might pass an apple-tree, and that there is nothing stopping one from nibbling an apple – or two, or three – or gathering as many as one can carry in the skirt of one’s robes. Those which are sold in the cities, are the cultivated varieties, all ultimately derived from this humble tree.

Cyrodiil is _hors pair_ , when it comes to its orchards: we have quite the right climate for all manner of varieties, and there might be as many types in one orchard, as in the entirety of, say, Skyrim... Head north, and one might bite into a crisp sweet Frost-breath Apple, the speciality of Bruma; the West Weald prides itself on cider-apples, and the Heartlands on baking-apples – once one has eaten an apple-pie in the Imperial City, one cannot settle for anything less.

But I have strayed from my topic, of wild plants: the wild apple, which is often – and with some reason – considered unremarkable alongside the grown varieties. But there is nothing quite like foraging one’s own food: nothing quite like sitting upon a stile, biting into a tart wild apple... They have some alchemical use: but even as an alchemist, I must admit that they never quite lend their taste to the result. I should much sooner restore my fatigue from the raw fruit, than from a potion, no matter how efficient.

* * *

**Arrowroot**

An unremarkable plant, one might say: the eye skims over it, as it sprawls upon the roadside, like a flowering grass. The alchemist might seek it out, seek out its little white flowers, for its effects upon strength and agility: not the most valued of effects for any but the most devoted, but despite this, the plant is far from unknown, if one is in the right place.

The right place – that would be the Gold Coast, once again. I did not notice the arrowroot, as a child – did not care for it, when my father pointed it out to me; my lessons in alchemy enhanced my interest somewhat; but it was when I was introduced to its culinary usage, that this plant really came into its own. It is put in jellies, to thicken them; in biscuits, as a flavouring; in cakes and desserts – not the leaves, that is, but the eponymous roots.

See the arrowroot above ground, and one might be forgiven for thinking it is a mere grass; take a shovel and dig it up, and one sees that it is far more than it seems. A long thick anchoring root splits off into a thousand others, and penetrates deep into the soil, finds the rich cliff-soils of the Gold Coast ideal: and it is this root which is prized by the cooks of Anvil... and by any who is fortunate enough to sample the result. My grandmother puts it in her jams: and she would never admit it, but I know she thought these jams far superior even to anything anyone back home in High Rock might have made.


	2. Bergamot. Blisterwort. Bog-beacon. Bramble. Bungler's Bane.

**Bergamot**

A woodland plant often dismissed by the amateur, for it is so small and fluttery as to be unremarkable, and given its similarities to the milk thistle – which, too, is often found in woodlands, but is not so deeply attached to the dappled forest floor as the bergamot. Indeed, the bergamot is everywhere, once one started looking for it, and though one might not be able to name it, I am sure that every citizen of Cyrodiil would know it by sight.

A dainty thing, but boldly coloured, and for that a favourite of woodland insects, and bees venturing in off the fields. Indeed, to us it may be unremarkable, but the rest of Nature seems not to think so: and it is a jolly sight, if one can get it, in spring when the branches are yet bare, but animal life has begun once again to take over...

The principle use for bergamot is in potions meant to dispel magical effects: it has a wide range in this regard, though it is not as strong as certain other plants. I am also told that it is edible, but that the taste is an acquired one, for it is bitter: nevertheless, it would appear it is one of the prized seasonings outside of Cyrodiil, and that perhaps we are missing out, in scarcely even recognising it.

* * *

**Blisterwort**

Skyrim’s cairn bolete, say the more well-travelled of the alchemists: and while it is not so frequent in Cyrodiil as that other province – and while it is not so easily made into a healing-potion – it is certainly, in the north, well-recognised for its curative properties. Unlike with the cairn bolete, however, it is not to be sampled alone, for it will make one fatigued, if one eats too much; and it does not quite have the friendly appearance of the bolete.

Blisterwort, indeed: for not only do its irregular clusters resemble the unpleasant effects of some skin disease, but the fungus itself is rough to the touch, and sometimes covered in unsavoury pustules. For that, some associate it with Peryite, just as some other fungi, resembling and associated with decay, are associated with Namira; even among those who care little for the Daedric princes, there is a prominent rumour that touching the plant gives one the pox.

I have never contracted the pox from blisterwort, and that despite working without gloves: make of that what you will. The optimist will say the rumour is unfounded. The pessimist will say that I am an alchemist: and the simple fact that I work with such a vast array of unpleasant materials, has meant that I am almost entirely free at this point of their effects.

* * *

**Bog-beacon**

There is something quite tempting about following the bog-beacon, when one is in marshy land: and indeed, for they do not grow in the very dampest parts of a bog, it is usually presumed that they will keep one on the high ground, at least for a short while. They are quite the charming sight, from a distance; a yellow bulb, little luminescent, as sunset approaches; and indeed they have the resemblance of a tasty fruit, an appearance which is immediately refuted, if one should have the daring to taste it.

The bog-beacon is not poisonous, so far as can be determined: but its taste is foul, and I shall attest to that. Its use in wortcraft imparts a small boost to one’s magicka, but the taste is hardly worth it: much better to place it in a potion, and so neutralise the flavour. It is however a trickster to store, if one picks it and keeps it in one’s satchel for later: it must be wrapped in paper or cloth, lest it leak its fungal juices and swamp remnants all over.

Certainly it makes a fine potion of magicka restoration, and it is in the south one of the most common ingredients in such a potion. But one is always shunned rather, when on returning one empties one’s bag, and with it comes the smell of the bogs through which one has been wading. A pretty thing, then, at a distance: but do not be tempted by its beacon qualities, unless one knows what one is getting oneself into.

* * *

**Bramble**

We all know the humble blackberry, and its tangle of a plant: most especially those who have thought to stray from the road, and quickly come into an impassable mass of thorns, more foreboding than anything which might lurk within the forest. Certainly it imparts a painful bite: but there is not one of us who will dig up a bramble, should it take root in the garden, for come summertime it will bring forth a bounty.

The leaves themselves are thorned, as well as the branches; but there is a delicacy, a fragility even, in the pretty white flower, and in the eventual fruit. It is the fruit which is useful alchemically, and in cuisine – in jams, in pies, or simply eaten straight from the bush – but I am told that the leaves and the roots are also used, in some circles, medicinally. Indeed, I have heard some quite extraordinary stories from the villages, of a nice bramble tea working miracles upon the ailing; I am not sure I believe them, these villages also having access to an assortment of magics and potions. 

But what charm lies in the bramble, is in the picking: when I was a child, I would be given a basket, and an afternoon, and what I managed to collect would be put into a pie, and so I had every interest in bringing back as many as possible. – That is not to say that I did not sample two, or three, or ten, on the way, and have to hide the evidence by licking the juice from my fingers.

* * *

**Bungler’s Bane**

One of Vvardenfell’s most common fungi, and quite the icon of its handful of woodlands, the Bungler’s Bane occurs in north-eastern Cyrodiil, in the forests surrounding Cheydinhal, and has been suspected to occur further in even than that. It is one of the fungi which, upon anchoring onto a tree-stump or the remnants of a fallen tree, grows in a shelf, layer by layer; the Bungler’s Bane being most striking by its occasional tendency to a bright orange layer.

It is called Bungler’s Bane quite for this reason, that it is one of _many_ similar fungi which grow in a similar fashion on rotting trees: the most prominent confusion comes from the Hypha Facia, which not only grows near to it, but in some instances _in between_ , that there are alternate shelves of the two species: and it is only the expert who can truly tell them apart.

This confusion, however, is unlikely to prove unfortunate, for neither fungus is considered of particular use to any but the most insalubrious alchemist. Both are poisonous, eaten raw; neither is very easy at all to mix into anything but a poison. I have sometimes taken samples back of both, hoping that they might at least be of some use to academia: but thus far we have been able to make scarcely any use of this. Bungler’s Bane indeed, if one was expecting something more!


	3. Cairn Bolete. Cinnabar Polypore. Clouded Funnel Cap. Columbine.

**Cairn Bolete**

The cairn bolete, say some, marks the place at which somebody perished – or the spot at which somebody was buried, which has, according to hearsay, been the key to more than one unsolved disappearance. There is, then, something quite morbid about this poor fungus, which in truth grows prolifically, not just in places of death, but in near-untouched caves, too, and by roadsides; and even in the broad stainless daylight of the Arcane University’s garden.

The explorer knows it well – sees it either as a modest thing, scarce worth one’s attention, or perhaps as an omen. There is no cave in Cyrodiil – Cyrodiil, where every dark corner favours the dampness on which this fungus thrives – which remains untouched by the cairn bolete. It is quite one of the most archetypal of the fungi: pale, and with a distinctive wide cap. But the alchemist knows it best, for it is one of relatively few plants which has been proven to have a healing effect.

Eaten in wortcraft, it has an immediately restorative effect, and might stave off a headache, or perhaps a purpling bruise. But it is, as every ingredient, much more frequently used in potions – indeed, if ever you drink a potion of restore health, then know that it more than likely was crafted from this humble plant. One can but pray that it was not in combination with a human heart.

* * *

**Cinnabar Polypore**

There are two paradoxical ideas surrounding the cinnabar polypore: firstly, that the red and yellow polypores are but two varieties of the same species; and secondly, that they are so entirely different that they do not merit the shared name. Certainly it was a recent discovery that their alchemical effects are entirely different. They are both to be found growing on trees, as a shelf fungus; and prove equally unpleasant, when consumed outside of alchemy. The debate surrounding them pertains much to the recent discussion of what constitutes a variety and what a species; but here is not the space for a summary of that discussion.

Despite their noxious effects, and the confusion surrounding them, the cinnabar polypores are a surprisingly charming fungus, and their appearance throughout the wooded sections of the West Weald is quite welcome, for a mushroom. There is an artist in Skingrad who uses them as a symbol of something remarkably positive springing from decay and death, though perhaps he has grown rather too fond of them...

The principles effects of these two fungi are, for the red, restoration of agility; and for the yellow, restoration of endurance. Quite valuable effects, for the adventurer especially: and there is more than one, who keeps a shelf or two in their bag, that they might nibble it in a pinch. They will not mention that they taste quite foul raw, only that the effect which comes of them is quite remarkable, and just what they needed to spring across that ford, or walk that last mile. 

* * *

**Clouded Funnel Cap**

The clouded funnel cap is prolific in Cyrodiil – quite remarkably, both in the northern mountains, and in the southern swamps – but it is round Bruma where it is the most appreciated, and that simply for its appearance. It has its name, they say, not simply because it resembles the sky, but more because it _mirrors_ it... The sky has been captured upon its surface, by some supernatural magicks: that, they say, is the only way it can have turned out as beautiful as it has.

Those of the south, on learning this, have on occasion rather scoffed, for if it mirrors the sky, it mirrors but a dull Bruma afternoon, when it is bordering on snow. But in truth, there _is_ something very beautiful in it: in the colours which seem to shift on being regarded, like the scudding snow-clouds; in the myriad blues and greys, more than one might have believed existed, which shimmer across the cap of this remarkable fungus.

It is almost a shame to crush it, to use it: but despite their fondness for it, the citizens of Bruma especially are partial to using it in a nice autumn soup. The mage-alchemist might say they prefer its use in the restoration or fortification of intelligence, and that is all very well: but I shall also say, you simply _must_ visit Bruma in autumn, for a bowl of that marvellous wild mushroom soup...

* * *

**Columbine**

One of those southern plants which looks so remarkably as if it strayed from Valenwood, and became lost, that it is quite astounding to learn just how frequent it is, along the Strid valley. There is damp enough air for it, however, and the beginnings of the Valenwood forest sprawl: and there, among the Cyrodiil ivies, this showy flower, a reminder of the extraordinary colours of the flowers in our southern neighbour.

Red ribbons like a party-dress, and then, within, a burst of yellow: an attractive flower, and one which, in summer, is surrounded by a frenzy of insects, all vying for a taste of its nectar, which I can only imagine is as rich as its coloration. It is domesticated, in parts: brought to the Arboretum, in the Imperial City, as a hint of warmer climes, and which has begun to spread outside the city walls. A charmer, I am sure, if it should survive its escape into the colder Heartlands...

And perhaps it should, for one of the most common uses is in a potion of frost resistance; that is not, furthermore, the only use which it has, for try as they might, my fellow-alchemists have never found anything that were not beneficial, in using this marvellous little plant. A little effort, and one might restore one’s magicka; a little more, and one can hide in plain sight – quite unlike the showy columbine, which never goes unnoticed.


	4. Draggle-Tail. Dragon's Tongue. Dryad's Saddle.

**Draggle-Tail**

That the remarkable Draggle-tail should have made its way to Cyrodiil, is apparently entirely due to Count Andel Indarys, who, on seeing that his new domain was well-provisioned with shallow waterways, decided that he would import a reminder of home, and so introduced the plant to the streams of Cheydinhal. And it has flourished there: the people of the city are happy to have such a plant, for it is luminescent, and lights the way back from parties held long into the night.

Some mistake the plant for two, for not only does it have its flowers on a separate stalk from its pods, but these two ingredients – known commonly as the coda-flower and the ampoule-pod – are so entirely different alchemically, that it makes of the humble draggle-tail a most unique plant indeed. The coda-flower is most known for levitation effects (and so its trade and usage are limited, and the Arcane University itself must have permission to use it thus); the ampoule-pod, for water-walking – this plant, then, is quite the saviour of the mage who never quite grasped Alteration.

It has occasionally been advised that, if one falls into a pond, one should nibble upon an ampoule-pod, and grant oneself the ability to walk safely to land: but any pond which contains a draggle-tail is surely shallow enough to wade in, and furthermore, despite its beneficial effects, the ampoule-pod tastes quite foul, and this advice is recommended only if absolutely necessary.

* * *

**Dragon’s Tongue**

I was once asked by a visitor from Black Marsh how it was that I could handle the dragon’s-tongue, and not be poisoned: a comment which surprised me thoroughly, for I did not know that it was remotely poisonous. My research led me to a paragraph in an old textbook, which claimed that what my friend had said were true, that it were harmful to the touch; some more investigation, and I located a discovery – which had gone widely unnoticed – that there are numerous varieties of dragon’s-tongue, and that the harmful one is present only in Black Marsh.

A convenience, for Argonians are resistant to its poison; some have gone so far as to say that they have developed this resistance _because_ of the dragon’s-tongue, but that perhaps is heaping too much importance on the plant. It has no such effect in Cyrodiil, where it grows primarily in the West Weald; or in Skyrim, where a different variety again abounds.

And so I might safely pick it, and use its delicate yellow petals in a potion of fire resistance, or perhaps to restore health; quite what connexion it has to fire, has yet to be determined, though there is a suggestion in Skyrim that they have often been found among the ashes of wildfires, their brilliant flowers a reminder of the bright flames which rushed across the land, scarcely weeks before. 

* * *

**Dryad’s Saddle**

Of all the wide variety of forest creatures which dwell in Cyrodiil, this one has never been espied, but endures, in certain legends: a guardian-spirit of the forest, perhaps replacing Kynareth in the deeply rural pantheon. The city-dweller doubtless knows it only from this rare mushroom, which outside of its use in alchemy makes a frequent appearance on the richest of society’s tables.

Having partaken of the dryad-saddle at a certain Imperial dinner, I can say that it is a fine one for making a sauce out of, though it has little of the distinctive edge of truffles, and is likely prized only for its scarcity. It is found almost exclusively in the woods, off the beaten track: a brown-and-white speckled cap, which can become very wide, but yet remains fairly well hidden among the foliage.

Despite its picky appearances, it has begun to be cultivated, and well, in the Heartlands, and so perhaps the lower classes will be able to partake of it. – The University has a few in the garden, and these are most often used for frost-resistance potions, though their ability to restore luck has been the salvation of a small number of adventurers caught short by those vicious forest-creatures which – despite the supposed presence of the guardian dryads – yet roam our province.


	5. Elf Cup. Emetic Russula.

**Elf Cup**

A south-western fungus, apparently eaten as a delicacy in Kvatch and the villages thereabout, but which is otherwise seen as a cure-all – not without good reason, but not often for quite the correct reason. It is to the dismay of the prostrated individual that a nibble of this mushroom will do nothing but give one a brain fog, though it works reasonably well as a sedative; its use in potions to cure diseases likely gives it a reputation which it does not often live up to.

Certainly it has been used in potions which have successfully cured certain diseases: usually in combination with the mandrake, another disproportionately celebrated ‘cure-all’. – The truth is far from _all_ , but there has been much work in this area in recent years. – The belief, however, that it helps with disease is likely what is at play, with minor cases: and indeed, I have seen a man in bed with a cold, eat a bowl of elf-cup soup, and be out of the aforementioned bed in what seemed like no time at all. Perhaps to avoid being forced to eat another bowlful.

It is a charming fungus, visually: a scarlet bowl-shaped cap, growing on mossy damp rocks, filling with water in the rain like a basin for birds – which might sometimes be seen drinking from them; a fungus which the amateur mycologist will go out of their way to collect, simply for its appearance, and perhaps also for the superstitions which surround it.

* * *

**Emetic Russula**

If you have read the entry upon the cinnabar polypore, and the note that two varieties of the same species have entirely different alchemical effects, it might astound you to learn that this other fungus has the precise same effects to the red cinnabar – but with an unfortunate occasional side-effect that may very easily be deduced from the name, and so it is much less frequently used in potions, though sometimes it serves as a relief, or an antidote to having taken poison.

Yet despite its effects, this is one of a few fungi which are most commonly depicted as _the_ fungus: a white stalk, and a glistening red cap, rather more clean than the fly-amanita, and in the south, where it replaces the latter in its range, it also replaces it in its folklore connotations: to the point of functioning as a home for small woodland fairy-types which assuredly do not exist except in stories.

The skilled alchemist can make a potion from the Russula with no ill-effect; and I have been told that there are cooks who can boil and prepare this mushroom to the extent that it no longer induces emesis; but if one has use for a potion to restore agility, or as a shield, I must insist that one tries a different ingredient first, unless one has no respect for one’s insides.


	6. Fennel. Flax. Fly Amanita. Foxglove. Frost Mirriam.

**Fennel**

The extraordinary sprout of the fennel in flower has, at times, been mistaken for a remarkable wild carrot: I suppose the person who thought this was sorely disappointed, on discovering that it has scarcely anything below the ground, save a bulb rather like an onion but rather less interesting. It is a common sight among the rocks of the Gold Coast, sometimes towering over shallow grasses, sometimes melding with taller ones; and rarely being so distinctive that one will go out of one’s way to investigate it.

A shame, for there are many uses to the fennel that one might not at first suspect. Every part of the plant may be eaten, and in some places is, whether as a vegetable, or a seasoning, or a garnish: I am told that – like many things – such usage is far more frequent in Hammerfell than in Cyrodiil, and I suspect that we ought to follow suit, amidst accusations of a drab culinary culture.

Its culinary uses are, however, quite the limit to the plant: for beyond its fatigue restoration properties, its harmful effects on magicka and intelligence – known among some as the arcane headache – make it quite the bane of mages everywhere, save those with nefarious – if specific – intentions.

* * *

**Flax**

Omnipresent flax – both by the roadside in the south-west, and extensively in our culture: for, most notably, where there is linen, there is the humble flax, in clothing, in tapestry, in bedsheets, in everything. That is doubtless what it is most known for; there is some cultivation of it, although success rates vary, for though the soil of the West Weald is ideal for its cultivation, such plantations are quickly set upon by linnets, who find the region equally ideal for their proliferation.

There are three varieties of flax, though there is surprisingly little fundamental difference between them: the red and blue varieties tend to have five distinct petals, and are very much similar in all but colour; whereas the yellow variety has overlapping petals with rugged edges, as if cut with pinking-shears. The leaves and the stem are almost as fine as the fabric which is made from them, and the plant is easily crushed by a passing clumsy rider: but it will spring back quickly, for this is among our hardiest plants, which is fortunate, given its value.

It is just as valuable, if not more so, to the alchemist and mage: for any potion of magicka restoration, of shield, or of feather is more than likely to use it as an ingredient. And I do also recall it being of great use to the small child who, having forgotten to buy her mother a birthday-present, dashed out to pick a bunch of pretty flowers to set in a vase, that they might lend their gentle perfume to the dining-room.

* * *

**Fly Amanita**

In those locations – and there are many – in which the fly-amanita replaces the Emetic Russula, it also replaces it in connotation: a charming little fairy-house, which unlike the Russula possesses a white speckled roof, and which appears in the margin scribblings of many an infant. It is also seen as a herald of autumn, and – fairytale or not – is a charming sight on a woodland walk, bright among fading leaves, sometimes small and dainty, sometimes nearly the size of a dinner-plate, perhaps a home for a family of dryads.

It found its name in its common use as a fly-catcher, for when combined with milk, it imparts a fatal blow to any insect which should land in it: not just by drowning but, apparently, by extraction of the shock effect by the milk, an effect which is usually reserved for the skilled (and nefarious) alchemist. This use has contributed to a popular idea that it is poisonous, but that is in fact far from the case, though its taste is not particularly appealing, and so it does not have much culinary use.

Indeed, the fly-amanita may be used very well in a healing-potion, assuming one has some skill in alchemy; but one must be careful, especially with the solvent that one employs, lest one receive – far from the restorative effects one was expecting – a lightning-bolt to the tongue, and experience that which one’s poor house-flies have suffered for years.

* * *

**Foxglove**

The omnipresence of the foxglove in gardens across Cyrodiil has made one quite forget that it has its wild origins in the unpopulated east, among the tributaries of the Niben. There it grows in sprawls, with flowers of varying quality, some mostly leaf; where it has been domesticated, it is tall and stately and its purple bell-flowers are quite magnificent, and – as my grandmother might say – it is ‘the perfect perennial for adding height to your garden’.

She also praises its resistance to disease, and its apparent ability to defy all harmful fauna, accepting only those bumblebees and moths which will assist in its reproduction and dispersal; it is this disease resistance, as well as resistance to several other effects, which is prized by the alchemist, who never yet made a potion which were harmful from the foxglove, and who no doubt supports wholeheartedly its spread across the cities. It grows well in many climates, along the same level; it does not, however, do quite so well in the north, where the gardens are much more demure for it.

The specific ingredient which is used in alchemy is the plant’s nectar, extracted through much pressure and effort (and not, as some believe, by simply waiting for bees to make it into honey). While this nectar would be a very expensive delicacy if it were sold as food, I must admit to having tried the nectar raw – licked, surreptitiously, from my fingers – and can attest to its being absolutely delicious, and a flavour I have ever attempted – with little success – to mix into my other potions.

* * *

**Frost Mirriam**

Nordic cookery is so often dismissed as perfectly bland – far blander, quite astoundingly, than is said even of Cyrodiilic cuisine – that it is rarely tasted at all outside of Skyrim: it was, then, a surprise to me, on visiting Bruma, that there is a very particular taste in all of their stews and soups, a taste which was later revealed to come from the herb known as _frost-mirriam_. 

I list frost-mirriam hesitantly, for it is far from native, and has scarcely been introduced to our province: but it is a plant which I feel has potential in the north, and which certainly more and more Cyrodiilic Nords are growing, a taste of distant home. In a well-tended garden, the frost-mirriam resembles a shrub more than a herb, with ragged leaves like those of the common oak, and branches which can reach as high as the garden-fence. The tender top leaves are those chosen for cooking, and those most often found hanging in the Nordic kitchen.

I was told, in Bruma, that the frost-mirriam has little use in alchemy. – ‘But it is greatly beneficial in resistance to cold and frost,’ said I. – ‘Exactly,’ said my Nord acquaintance: and to my shame I did not immediately realise what he meant. – But I took a small bunch out in an increasing snowfall, and nibbled upon it, and was not only charmed by the taste, which I recognised from my host’s cooking, but by the sensation of warmth which spread through me, despite the driving snow.


	7. Ginkgo. Ginseng. Goldenrod. Gold Kanet. Grape Vine. Green Lichen. Green Stain Cup.

**Ginkgo**

The ginkgo is known by some in Cyrodiil as the ‘forty-drake tree’, for, allegedly, when an earlier Count of Chorrol had samples brought over from Hammerfell, he bought them for forty septims the fathom. That he was the first to introduce them to the Imperial Province is likely a myth, given there are specimens claiming to be older than Chorrol itself, but it is certainly true that there was at one point a mania for them, such that we now have more ginkgo trees in the north-west quite than we know what to do with.

They have no distinctive appearance, from a distance: it is only when one gets close, that one sees how unusual its leaves are: precisely the shape of a fan, and with radiating veins like the folds of one. It is only in autumn that they really come into their own, for the leaves turn a glorious bright golden colour, and might be perceived easily among the other shedding trees, a gilded border to the rivers of the Colovian Highlands – which, as these leaves fall, become equally golden, though sometimes clogged, for this is an enthusiastic tree when it comes to it.

I have rarely used ginkgo in alchemy; indeed I have rarely come by it, in my own circles: but it is, I hear, particularly potent in the fortification of magicka. – This quality is not much valued in Hammerfell, for nor are mages: but perhaps we in Cyrodiil ought to take advantage of that, and pay more homage to this most charming cultivar.

* * *

**Ginseng**

There are so many beliefs surrounding the use of ginseng-root that to list them all would require a separate book, and perhaps a visit to the more far-flung villages of the province. It is quite hard enough to persuade people that the ginseng does not have any curative properties where diseases are concerned – only poisons; and that a simple nibble will do more harm than good, its principle effect being to damage one’s luck.

There is however much use for it in curing poisons – whether from a scuffle with an alchemically-inclined bandit, or simply from a spider-bite – though it must not be used alone, for reasons already mentioned, else one risks facing the exact same situation all over again, as I have heard several times reported. It is easily made into such a potion in combination with redwort; it is recommended to use the root, for though the other parts of the plant have similar properties, they are in much weaker concentrations.

The rest of the plant – that is quite distinctive, once one knows what one is looking for: low radiant leaves, and a long stem topped by a red or yellow flower, rather resembling a cluster of berries. Such flowers are a common sight in the Gold Coast and the Niben Valley – nowhere in between, it seems – and cling rather to damp edges of woodland: alongside the insects and spiders which impart the bites it cures, as conveniently as nature so often is.

* * *

**Goldenrod**

One of those plants which – bright at the edge of fields – is so very commonplace as not to be recognised by the majority, but which, if absent, would surely be an immense loss: that despite the complaints from farmers who bemoan their invasion of crop-fields and pasture alike. There is nothing to signify a Gold Coast summer, than that plant which perhaps gave the region its name: hardy and windswept, yet ruggedly beautiful, like the cliffs and the docks and the meadows which symbolise our county, and on which it shines.

It is a tall, grass-like plant – inconspicuous among cereal-plants, to the farmer’s consternation – with thin leaves and sprouts of small yellow flowers; after the summer, these flowers are replaced by seeds, which the child will know for having pulled them off and cast them to the wind; and which the alchemist will know as the most useful part of the plant.

The goldenrod is in high demand in summer, not just for its charming colour, but for its water-breathing properties: in combination with an onion, usually (or, for the intrepid, slaughterfish scales or dreugh-wax), it forms a part of the best-selling potion of the Anvil seaside. How fortunate that it is so frequent, that stall-holders might make a fine profit in allowing visitors to investigate the sand at the bottom of the bay.

* * *

**Gold Kanet**

How the Gold Kanet came to grow in Cyrodiil is yet a mystery: it is not a common ornamental plant, and so it is suspected that it came over through trade, once the Vvardenfell land-rush was in full swing. Its native habitat is the south-west of that island, and so it finds itself at home in the damper parts of eastern Cyrodiil, and indeed in some parts has begun to take over, and is feared to constitute a threat to certain native species.

‘What a detestable plant,’ certain among the Cheydinhal alchemists will tell me. – ‘It is pretty, if nothing else,’ I might reply: for it is quite charming, big waxy leaves and an explosion of small golden flowers. – ‘But it has spines; and a great deal of irritating pollen; and it has scarcely any use whatsoever,’ they argue: and on this they might be right.

For its only positive effect is the restoration of strength, and this a difficult one to extract; but my friends in Morrowind have rather a different view of the plant’s aspect, and far from curse its spines and its unfortunate effect upon those who suffer hay-fever, say that they welcome it, when it comes into flower in spring; it brightens the long grey roads, an immeasurable joy when one has been travelling too long in the wastelands of Vvardenfell – quite the contrast from our beloved Cyrodiilic sprawl, already so golden and glorious without this unfortunate flower.

* * *

**Grape Vine**

What to say of the grape-vine in Cyrodiil, which has not already been said? which has not been waxed lyrical, in the cookery-book, in the wine-guide, in notes given to tourists, written into our very culture... For the grape is quite the extraordinary fruit, and it is a surprise to most people, to learn that it is very little cultivated outside of the West Weald, and indeed that attempts to grow it elsewhere have usually resulted in failure.

There is something about the soils and the climate around Skingrad... And there is something about the citizens themselves, who have the patience and the good-natured persistence to become excellent vintners. I am sure that there is none in Cyrodiil who does not have an opinion on which wine is the best – if it be a Tamika, or a Surilie; or if it be something else entirely. Our province is famous for its wines; the humble grape, and its minuscule area of cultivation, do far more leg-work than is their share.

My answer to which is the best wine has been the subject of many a heated debate: for as an alchemist with a certain talent, I always answer that a water-walking potion is the best. – ‘A _potion_?’ cry the incredulous. – Yes: for my secret is to mix a little cheap wine into the potion, and along with its other ingredients the result has a perfectly unique taste, which I am sure would be a far more common sight on tables all around the province, if wine enthusiasts more trusted alchemists. – I shall not say no to a Surilie red, or a Tamika rosé, but how preferable to be able to walk on water, rather than have one’s faculties diminished!

* * *

**Green Lichen**

Omnipresent lichen – which has not been subdivided, which is classified only by colour at present, for it is not in anyone’s primary interests to study a plant which is, by most, considered to be utterly dull, and hardly noticed at all. To which I might reply – Oh! but what would our forests be, without a carpet of lichen? – And then I should return to my flowers, and my fungi, and quite forget about it again.

Truly – there is something about lichen which merits further study, and perhaps such study will come; for the moment, one can only admire its tenacious presence in woodland, as it covers living trees – fallen trees – the very ground; persisting in winter, even when all else seems cold and lifeless. The green sort is particularly attractive; there are some red and yellow varieties to be discovered, deeper in; and there are some black lichens, though these are often associated with decay, and not so beloved.

I am told that it is an irony, that green lichen fortifies one’s personality: for what is more charming than an alchemist nibbling lichen? – One might laugh: but one will be grateful for lichen the next time one contracts rockjoint, for there is little more potent in the curing of this common, and widely despised, disease.

* * *

**Green Stain Cup**

Among the wide variety of unusual recipes which one might experience in Leyawiin, one of the more attractive is a ragout composed of green stain cups: for they are edible, and indeed delicious, imparted a sweet flavour by the wood on which they grow; their name comes from what they impart in return, which is a most unusual green dye that is difficult to remove from a tree-trunk, and fragments of which may yet be found upon the local furniture.

The plant is most common in the far south, and indeed extends into Black Marsh; but it is not uncommon in the forests further north, a cup-fungus, about the size of one’s hand at its biggest, and a beautiful rich shimmering green. It favours dead wood, but is not averse to live trees: and it is the ones taken from live trees which are most prized in cookery.

A skilled alchemist might eke a potion of reflexion out of the green stain cup, and indeed it is one of the more common ingredients in such a potion. But – as with so many of the edible plants – its principle impact is to be found in its culinary usage, which has a fine effect upon one’s fatigue. That said, it is a common anecdote that one ought not to serve it with pork, as this has made many a diner struggle to get up from the table afterwards. – Perhaps it was that their speed was reduced; perhaps it was simply that they ate too much; it is difficult to know.


	8. Heather. Hypha Facia.

**Heather**

The heather-moors of Skyrim are, I am told, quite a sight to behold: terrain that is empty and rugged in winter, but which in summer erupts into life, into an overwhelming purple carpet, the cold-weather lavender. Cyrodiil partakes a little in this extraordinary vista, in the north, beneath the snow-line, and before the forests: it does not compete well with woodland, and that perhaps is why we do not see more of it. In Skyrim it is grazed, harvested, burned back; in Cyrodiil it is treasured, and heather-honey is priced quite through the roof.

Heather is the traditional gift brought by ambassadors from Skyrim to the Emperor – seen by most as a welcome gift, seen by some as a wry dig, for those sceptics say it is as if we took a bunch of grass to the High King of Skyrim. But it is a pleasant plant nonetheless, with dainty flowers in their hundreds; a little scratchy, but with all the more personality for it.

It has little use nibbled alone, save if one has had one’s personality somehow drained, and is perhaps about to attend an important meeting; otherwise, it is most frequent in potions of feather, where it lends a curious taste and a beautiful lilac colour to the resultant mixture (and one which must not be spilled upon one’s clothes, for one will not remove the stain, no matter what one tries).

* * *

**Hypha Facia**

I am told – and not unreliably – that the people of Morrowind enjoy the Hypha Facia as a food: and it must be said, I am quite astounded by the proposition, given its vaguely musty taste, its tendency to drain one’s luck (too much makes one clumsy, is the common anecdote), and most particularly that hideous swamp moisture which imbues it no matter how hard one tries to dry it off. All I can say is: if one is offered mushroom soup in Morrowind, proceed cautiously.

It was previously thought that – like the Bungler’s Bane, which resembles it immensely – it did not have much use in alchemy: but my correspondent in Balmora has managed on occasion to make a potion to detect enchantments, in combination with the hound-meat that is eaten over there. – We have nothing comparable in Cyrodiil, and so perhaps we are missing out, but it is surely only the careless mage who has regular use for a potion to find their possessions.

I have already noted with the Bungler’s Bane that there are two brown shelf fungi with a very similar appearance and range; and try as I might, I have never managed to reliably tell them apart, though our University alchemist reckons that she can. I suppose one might try eating it, but I also suppose that only the devoted alchemist would think such a task worth it.


	9. Imp Stool. Ironwood Tree.

**Imp Stool**

‘It is so named for resembling a stool on which imps might sit,’ say the more salubrious adventurers. – ‘It is so named because it resembles their excrement,’ say the more direct. – I shall not weigh in on either side; but I do very well know what imp excrement looks like – and it is very much like this mushroom, light and round and squat.

A fairly unpleasant sort of fungus, then, common in damp cold northern caves – and frequently, I am told, growing upon the droppings of other creatures, in a sort of communal dung-heap, if one is to believe the more direct among the adventurers. I am also told that, for this, it is not often picked: it is thankful, then, that it has no extraordinary use.

It is poisonous to eat, and indeed its most frequent uses are in poisons – especially those of paralysis, if one is deft enough, and so it is favoured both among green (or brown) fingered bandits, and perhaps among certain hunters. There is a possibility of making a potion to restore health from it, but this is so difficult, and there are so many alternatives which do not involve dipping one’s hands in dung, that it is not a frequent exercise.

* * *

**Ironwood Tree**

The name of this tree – as is well-known – comes from its hardness, an almost metal-like quality; but while this has led to associations with arms and armour, it is a surprise to some that the wood of this magnificent tree is more used in magical than in traditional combat. For a good amount of the staves which you will see in Cyrodiil – and many in Skyrim, the plant’s native province – are crafted from ironwood. The Arcane University brought a sample of the tree to Cyrodiil, many centuries ago now, for its staffs; the location of its now-flourishing grove is kept secret, for though there are ironwood trees elsewhere now in the province, those in the grove are of a particularly potent variety.

Despite this remarkable nature, the tree is not showy: much like a beech if its bark were dark, almost black, with leaves of a similar shape to that more common species. It is far more common in Skyrim, indeed it is planted there as a firebreak, for its bark is not just protected from impact, but also from fire.

This fireproof quality has gone into the fruit of the tree, the ironwood nut: which serves this purpose frequently in alchemy, but which also makes an appearance on tables about the province, usually in a little bowl which is ignored for entire evenings at a time, unless the sweetrolls and the cheese and the truffles should definitively run out. Its reputation as a tooth-breaker is certainly not without backing – and that even after one has shelled it.


	10. Juniper.

**Juniper**

The juniper-tree was introduced to Cyrodiil from western Skyrim a good long while ago now, with, apparently, the express intention of adding its berries to wines and spirits: just as crushed juniper berries add a certain kick to the Skyrim meads, and are prized there for it. The results were conflicted at best, but further experimentations saw it added to sauces and sometimes to sweet desserts, and so it is still seen occasionally, on the richer table, and for the record is rather splendid, rich and not too bitter, with a rugged taste to match the plant.

It flourishes where it was first introduced, in the West Weald and around Chorrol; a squat tree with whitish wrinkled bark, and deep green needles, which have the most remarkable scent, if one rubs one’s fingers along them. The berries are a swirling blue, and are at their best throughout the autumn, when the evergreen juniper provides a charming eruption of colour among its poor bare neighbours. 

The juniper berry is, as I have mentioned, eaten raw and cooked in various fashions; it is also, in combination often with leeks, quite a common ingredient in potions to fortify agility, and I know a good many archers who swear by them for that reason.


	11. Lady's Mantle. Lady's Smock. Lavender. Lily of the Valley. Luminous Russula.

**Lady’s Mantle**

The lady’s-mantle bears pretty leaves, the size of one’s palm, and shaped like a many-sided star – or, if you will, a green travelling-cloak, from whence the name – and, as a child, I was quite captivated by them, and pressed their leaves for my album: a habit which irked my father, for the lady’s-mantle is of great use to alchemists, and one can hardly make any use of an old leaf which has been pasted into a book. I was also fond of the flowers: and indeed, these are quite another of the many reasons for which the Gold Coast has its name. 

The flowers, indeed: perfectly charming little golden ones, so common by the road that one takes them for granted; and so common among the insect life that they are busy throughout the summer. They are also of immense use to the alchemist, for they are one of few things that will aid one’s health when eaten straight from the plant: they are a particularly effective painkiller, especially steeped in a tea, but will serve any manner of mild injury procured when out for a walk.

And so they are common as a poultice or a medicine, about the Gold Coast and County Kvatch; in potions of feather and night-eye, too; they are, I understand, becoming more common elsewhere, and I imagine that they will be welcomed. We have them at the Arcane University, quite one of our most tenacious plants; and I must resist the urge, when I pass, to take one of those charming leaves, and place it in a scrapbook.

* * *

**Lady’s Smock**

Quite who thought that the dainty white flower of the lady’s-smock resembled a shapeless loose-fitting garment, I do not know: but its other name, that of cuckoo-flower, is rather more apt, for it emerges soon in spring, together with the call of that charming bird which is so common in the southern woodlands. – And it is in the south that this flower flourishes: around Skingrad and Kvatch, a glorious carpet in airy forest, well worth the springtime walk.

It is also eaten in those parts: on one occasion when I dined in Kvatch, I found my meal to have the most unusual spice to it, and on asking was told that it was the flower of the lady’s-smock. A surprise, to the visitor who assumed Cyrodiilic food to be bland: that we might, if we wish it, impart quite the kick to a meal.

It does not often lend this flavour to potions made from it: the alchemical process seems usually to drain it entirely of interest, save the effects – most usefully that of fire resistance. But if one should drink a potion to restore one’s intelligence, then there is a good chance that one will then have to restore one’s tastebuds, after partaking of this most surprising of plants. 

* * *

**Lavender**

The Skyrim variety of lavender – if one should ever be lucky enough to see it – is reputedly extraordinary: what little landscape art comes from that province, quite often depicts the vast stretches of rich purple, outside of Whiterun and upon the plains there; and it is a part of their culture and cuisine, used in perfumes, in desserts – in savoury meals, even –; and from time to time it is used in alchemy, and the Nords favour its tendency to restore one’s fatigue over that of resistance to magic.

A shame, then, that the Cyrodiilic variant is so unremarkable. Where the Skyrim one is richly coloured, ours is pale, faded; where the Skyrim one is showy, dances in full sight and fresh air, ours cowers in woodland, grows cautiously, close to trees. And we in Cyrodiil do not eat it, rather – occasionally – use it to scent a room, in a slim vase; or else powder it, and stitch it into a bag, and place it in our wardrobes and cupboards: for despite everything it has the same delicious smell as its Skyrim counterpart. 

It would appear that our Cyrodiilic lavender is quite separate from the Skyrim, for we have never managed to extract similar effects from the two; and indeed, as if to make up for its defaults, we can mix a potion to restore health out of ours, and such a thing has never been made from it in Skyrim.

* * *

**Lily of the Valley**

In the midst of spring, the bright carpets of bluebells are replaced by their more demure cousin, the lily-of-the-valley: a bell-flower, but perfectly white, and occurring rather individually than in the great clumps characteristic of the bluebell. They have the most glorious smell, such that many are tempted to taste it; and while it has little adverse effect eaten thus, it has a taste which does not in the least match its scent.

But the scent and the charming dainty appearance are enough that it is often gathered, and common on the Chorrol dining-table; the current Countess of Chorrol famously gave them a higher status when she had them in her wedding-bouquet, and since then there has scarcely been a wedding in the west which did not feature the lily-of-the-valley – and scarcely a wedding, without some plant-fancier fearing for the future of a plant which they see as, for this reason, disappearing more quickly than it can grow.

I cannot say if this is true or not: but those which we have at the University proliferate, and given our courtyard is hardly the rich damp woodlands which they favour, I must say I do not believe them to be in much danger. Their welcome effect on endurance, after all, is perhaps testament to their continued hardiness.

* * *

**Luminous Russula**

This fungus, native to Morrowind, occurs in Cyrodiil only due to its introduction to the grounds of the Arcane University; its spores were found to be more persistent than one might have hoped, and quickly it ended up a fairly common sight about some of the ponds within the City, and on the shores of Rumare. It is, however, quite a long time since it made its first appearance, and it does not seem to be having a detrimental effect – rather the opposite. 

There is a tradition on Vvardenfell that, if one sees a Luminous Russula, one should immediately break off a piece, for one is surely around deep water: and a nibble of the Russula affords a half-minute or so of water-breathing. It is this usage for which it is famed, although I do hear that it is also a popular poison in combination with the Violet Coprinus – which in Morrowind occurs almost exclusively with the Russula. 

The most striking feature of the Russula, however, can be seen only at night. When I first arrived at the University, I was surprised in darkening evening to find the grounds lit up in no small part by the white spots of a Luminous Russula, quite living up to its name. Indeed, it is so bright that boaters on this side of the lake have taken to calling it the ‘Lighthouse Russula’, and I am not disinclined to likewise adopt the name.


	12. Mandrake. Milk Thistle. Monkshood. Morning Glory. Motherwort. Mountain Flower.

**Mandrake**

The mandrake is a charming little plant, known primarily around Bravil, where frequent rains run in tiny streams down its leaves, and over its petals – which many in the country have taken as a tongue-in-cheek explanation for its remarkably wrinkled appearance. Indeed, the pattern on the roots is such that it has been compared to a hand, or – by the imaginative – a face: a facet which I, for all my investigations, simply cannot see.

This root is generally considered inedible in cuisine, though there are perennial reports of someone trying, for the mandrake has extraordinary benefits, if one can but unlock them. A bite of the raw root will ease a fever; and a potion carefully crafted from it has been alleged to cure all but the most pernicious of diseases. I assure you, as I have frequently, that such an alchemical miracle has yet to be achieved, but that the range of maladies which the mandrake has been seen to cure is really quite wide. 

The mandrake also grows in the Colovians, where its spiky purple flower contrasts strikingly with the tufts of yellow grasses all about, and it is in the hills north of Anvil where I first encountered it. A most remarkable appearance for a most remarkable plant, which should be among the first the amateur learns to identify.

* * *

**Milk Thistle**

Of the many myths about the milk-thistle, one of the most persistent is that it is so named because it is used to induce milk production in cows: this is quite untrue, and one will find upon breaking open a thistle-stem – if one dares brave the thorns – that inside the plant is a creamy liquid, neither like nor unlike milk on the whole, but of a suitable colour to insinuate its distinctive name. I am quite reliably told that cows will reject a thistle held out to them, primarily for its foreboding appearance.

Foreboding: for who has not waded through a field of grass, only to have one’s leg assailed by the spikes of a thistle? I have shredded the hems of robes upon them before, and might admit to not yet having quite learned my lesson on that point; I suppose I forgive them, because their flowers are of such a wonderful rich colour that I cannot help but admire them. – Their occurrence, then, in the grassy plains of the Gold Coast is less than welcome; but in Bruma and the north they grow unmasked, and are there quite a cold-hearted charm.

Their primary use, for their effect upon one’s perception of light, is far more effective in potions than in wortcraft; but if one is caught out in the dark, and walks into a thistle, it is advisable to nibble upon it – very carefully – that one does not blunder into a second.

* * *

**Monkshood**

If you have ever come across the Wolf-bane flower, then you might yet be convinced of its efficacy against wolves – and most famously werewolves, in Skyrim – but the omnipresence of at once the monkshood and the common wolf would seem to testify to the extent to which that folk legend holds. Certainly it is known to be poisonous to domestic dogs, but few of the species are inclined to eat it unless it is forced on them. 

For it is omnipresent: one might mistake it for the bluebell, save that it flowers rather later, a fresh carpet in late spring: and that its leaves are not thin, but rather splay in a number of serrated lobes. The common name which we give it in Cyrodiil attests to the shape of the flower: and perhaps also for it being a favourite among the priories of the realm, where it is grown at field-borders and in lawns. 

A simple potion made from the monkshood restores one’s strength; a more complex one might fortify one’s endurance; but one must be careful that one does not rather burden oneself. And if one should be venturing into wolf-country, one must put one’s trust into a good eye and a better sword, rather than the fickle loyalties of the plant which Nords so temptingly call wolf-bane. 

* * *

**Morning Glory**

There was in the last century a fad for the morning-glory, that great blue cloche of a flower: a favourite of the otherwise elusive Count of Skingrad, its almost excessive use on the streets of that city spread quickly to the other western cities. Elsewhere it faded, but it yet reigns in Skingrad, where it has escaped the grasp of the most eager botanist and now proliferates on lampposts, and winding round signs, and adorning the balconies of the residents. 

When I as a child was taken to Skingrad, I always tried to pull at them, to get a flower for myself: but like most of the children whom you will see engaged in such an activity, I found them quite out of reach of my infant height. Now, as a taller but little more mature adult, I have been known to extract a few on passing – for no reason at the time, but with the excuse that, later, I might work them into a potion of frost shield. 

A potion which is furthermore difficult to brew: it is ill-advised to work with the plant as an amateur, or a wortcrafter, as one might find oneself fatigued in so many directions on consuming it, that one will stand no chance of jumping for the next one which one perceives. 

* * *

**Motherwort**

A sprig of motherwort is the poor man’s bouquet, as the tradition goes: rather unfair to the charming motherwort, which is so frequent – and so unremarkable, perhaps, in the company of its fellows – that it often goes unnoticed. Its flowers are small and white, and its leaves pointed and oversized, but they lend a wonderful scent to the room in which they are set, if one but gives them a chance.

My mother often has them on her table, and I when young thought that whence came the name: but in fact the name’s provenance is its traditional use to assist fertility. (Rumours in this direction are little verified, but every mother with twins or triplets, or a great crowd of infants, will attest to its use.)

In modern alchemy, the motherwort is of great value to adventurers: who nibble it to resist the poisons of spiders or rats, and who might with some effort brew it into a potion of invisibility. For my part, I keep a sprig on the table, and am reminded with every breath of a day walking the meadows of the West Weald.

* * *

**Mountain Flower**

The Nords of Skyrim sing the virtues of the simple mountain flower, as a testament to their own quiet hardy strength, and the surprisingly varied beauty of their country: but those who have never left Cyrodiil rarely not know the mountain-flowers at all, for their extent is only just over the northern border, in the valleys and passes of the Jeralls. 

I say mountain-flowers, for I should say here that there are numerous types, distinguished primarily by colour, but which also tend to vary in alchemical effects produced. Unfortunately Skyrim is not a land which cultivates alchemy in any remarkable fashion, or else we should have identified and reaped the benefits of all of the species by now. But the Nord adventurer knows at least that the blue varieties have a healing effect, and the purple restores fatigue: important indeed, in their trade!

Work on the mountain flower is ongoing, and I am grateful to my correspondents in Skyrim for sending seed samples, that we might begin to cultivate them at the Arcane University. For the moment, one can appreciate them either by venturing into the Jerall wilds, or by reading the papers of my good friend Caecilia Iucundus, who has drawn them most beautifully in her account of her Skyrim travels.


	13. Nettle. Nightshade. Nirnroot.

**Nettle**

I remember the first time I was offered nettle soup: I did not believe at all that I had stinging-nettles in my bowl, and, when convinced, I was terrified that I should sting myself by eating them. But I was kept from ill-effect by the very fact that the nettles were cooked: and indeed they were much nicer than I had expected, from that plant that had so plagued my childhood, and which at its best looks most unpleasant. 

We all know the nettle, for having fallen into a patch, and being set upon by what is – and not just at a tender age – quite the worst itching pain in the world; which brings up ugly red marks; which requires the constant possession of some kind of balm, if one is so bold to venture out with bare legs, or at least the knowledge as to which plants might be squeezed upon the skin, to soothe the pain. There might be some satisfaction in it, if there were some great alchemical use to it: but, like any other food, it restores fatigue on its own, and the effects procured in combination with other ingredients are for the most part little wanted. 

There are those who might wish me to rehabilitate the nettle, in this entry: I have already mentioned its excellent culinary uses, and I might also add that, whenever the nettles are in flower, they are surrounded by a great crowd of insects, which I do not doubt to be a thoroughly good thing. Long live the nettle, then: and may I one day forgive it, for what it did to me when I was young.

* * *

**Nightshade**

A plant which suffers quite the bad reputation, owing to its poisonous qualities, and deep purple colour – thought seductive by some, dark by most – which have lead to an association with death – which in turn has lead to the Nightshade proliferating in the graveyards of the realm, where it occurs outside Strid-vale. And so we do not see it as bringing or representing anything other than death.

And perhaps that is a good thing: there has been more than one report of a poisoning – both accidentally and with malicious intent – by means of nightshade introduced into a dish; and it is all the parent can do, to keep their child from being tempted by the (admittedly pretty) flowers. The association with Mephala is – fittingly – the nail in the coffin for the nightshade’s reputation, and it is kept in most alchemical circles primarily for study and experimentation. 

That is not to say that the skilled alchemist cannot do something good with it: indeed, I have managed, with a dash of columbine or gingko, to eke out a beneficial effect to one’s magicka reserves. But that said, it took all afternoon, lashings of courage, and one broken phial more than I am willing to sacrifice to a potion which might be made far, far more easily. 

* * *

**Nirnroot**

Ah! the nirnroot, that most fascinating and most elusive of plants… To the standard observer, the nirnroot is known by its distinctive chime, which nevertheless is very rarely heard, and in some specimens is almost silent: the standard observer, then, tends to know it second-hand. To those of us who have ever found one, it is not a plant that is easily forgotten: and yet, and yet there has been so little study of it!

The alchemist Sinderion put in a research proposal at the last Imperial Alchemy Symposium, which was not met with much interest: but with my backing, I hope that it will find its feet in the next few years, and that the Cyrodiilic alchemical community will find something of interest in this extraordinary chiming root.

If one finds it, one will certainly know it, by its glow, and by its chime; and by its propensity to waterways; and if one finds one, a sample would not go unappreciated at the Arcane University. It is not worth attempting a potion oneself, however: my own efforts have gone fruitless, and even Sinderion – who has devoted his life to the plant – has not yet found anything remotely alchemically similar with which he might combine it. Strange indeed! and with the most extraordinary research potential...


End file.
